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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28433199">ghost in your arms</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/celestialfics/pseuds/celestialfics'>celestialfics</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Magnus Archives (Podcast)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, Canon Compliant, Hurt/Comfort...ish, M/M, Minor Injuries, The Lonely Fear Entity (The Magnus Archives), Unresolved Emotional Tension</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 20:15:02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,434</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28433199</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/celestialfics/pseuds/celestialfics</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Jon has gotten used to having late nights at the Institute in all his years working here, but what’s new is Martin bursting in through one of the back doors just after one in the morning, hours after he’d left for the night.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>80</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>ghost in your arms</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>takes place in season 4... after jon tells martin he misses him but before the whole lets run away together thing<br/>can i really write for a pairing without one tenderly dressing the other’s wounds at some point. no i cannot<br/>writing this was pain hopefully reading it is also pain &lt;3</p><p>title from ghosting by mother mother</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Jon has gotten used to having late nights at the Institute in all his years working here, but what’s new is Martin bursting in through one of the back doors just after one in the morning, hours after he’d left for the night. </p><p>It’s true that Jon tries not to Know about his assistants (not that Martin really still qualifies as one), but the sudden intrusion alerts Jon as well as a blaring alarm would. He immediately stops reading the statement he had been working on and stands from his desk, not bothering to click off the tape recorder as he rushes towards Martin. He hadn’t known what he expected to see upon reaching him, but it isn’t what he finds. </p><p>Martin leans against the wall, laborious breaths wracking his frame. One sleeve of his shirt is tattered, and a slash runs across his skin on his shoulder. The blood is fresh and oozing against his clothes. </p><p>“Martin?” Jon calls, </p><p>His eyes snap over, glazed with shock. </p><p>“Martin…” Jon’s voice softens, and he begins to approach Martin slowly. “What happened to you?” </p><p>It’s not a life-threatening injury, this much Jon knows, but it still looks painful. </p><p>Martin lets out a pathetic snort. “Don’t you already know?” The words come out strained, and Jon’s heart twists further in his chest. </p><p>“No,” Jon answers truthfully. As he gets closer, he can see the red and purple splotches that paint Martin’s knuckles. </p><p>Jon eyes pan from Martin’s hands back up to his eyes. Martin’s gaze shifts right as they meet, his avoidance obvious. Jon aches for him, for his loneliness. He is firmly in the Lonely’s grip, and Jon aches for Martin as much as he trusts him. </p><p>“Let’s get you to a sink,” Jon sighs, giving up on getting any answers. He extends a hand and gently touches Martin’s unscathed shoulder, an attempt to guide him to a restroom. </p><p>At the touch, something shifts in the air. Just slightly. Martin does not flinch away. </p><p>They make their way slowly, surely to the restroom, where Jon leaves Martin for a moment while he runs to his office to grab his emergency first aid kit. When he gets back, Martin is staring at himself in the mirror. Jon clears his throat to establish his presence before stepping towards Martin and setting the kit on the sink ledge. </p><p>“Are you hurt anywhere else?” Jon asks, opening the first aid kit with a click. His eyes scan quickly over Martin, who shakes his head. He won’t push Martin to say anything more; he knows it’s miraculous that Martin hasn’t already poofed into thin air. </p><p>Carefully, then, he begins to cleanse Martin’s shoulder wound, watching Martin’s face intently as he applies light pressure. The bleeding has stopped, but with any sudden or harsh movements it may begin again. </p><p>They sit in relative silence for a long while, as Jon wipes dried blood from Martin’s skin and disinfects it. Martin’s wincing breaths are the only thing Jon hears. </p><p>Once Martin’s shoulder has been bandaged, Jon moves on to his hands. His knuckles aren’t nearly as bloody, but a few nicks here and there still need to be cleansed. Jon swallows thickly before he gingerly takes Martin by the wrist and says, “May I?” </p><p>Martin just nods, and Jon feels his heart pounding in his ears as he holds Martin’s hand in his own, gently grazing the scrapes with a wet cloth. It’s the closest they’ve been in months, and it makes physical just how much Jon <em> misses </em>him. </p><p>“Peter never sends me out to do follow-up,” Martin speaks up, seemingly random. Jon only looks at him, curious. “But there was a statement he gave me and—there were too many loose ends. I couldn’t just file it away… I had to know. I had to find out <em> something</em>—” He cuts himself off with a shake of his head. “Well, the statement giver wasn’t too keen on seeing me at one in the morning, I suppose. <em> How did you find me? </em> he’d said, <em> Are you with them?</em>” He snorts. “I should’ve known, given it was a statement about the Eye. I just didn’t expect the knife. Or to hit him back.” </p><p>Jon’s grip tightens, just barely, around Martin’s hand. </p><p>“You should have told me, I could have—” </p><p>“Jon,” Martin interrupts, almost scolding. “You know I couldn’t have.” </p><p>Something ugly boils up in Jon’s chest at those words, and he almost snaps, <em> Why not? </em> He catches himself, but a moment too late. Martin reads the look on his face, and he shakes his head. </p><p>“I just want you to be safe,” Jon says, voice quiet. “I can keep you safe.” </p><p>“You can’t even keep <em> yourself </em> safe, Jon,” Martin responds, averting his gaze. “I don’t even know how many times you’ve gotten yourself hurt at this point—not counting the time you actually <em> died</em>. So I don’t need you to keep me safe. I’m doing quite okay on my own.” </p><p>“That’s not fair.”</p><p>“<em>None </em> of this is fair!” Martin rips his hand away from Jon, inhaling sharply as he does so. He takes a few ragged breaths before he repeats, voice softened considerably, “None of this is fair.” </p><p>Jon exhales shakily. “You’re right. I’m sorry.” </p><p>“No,” Martin says, “Don’t be sorry. I… It’s just. A lot.” He extends his hand out to allow Jon to take it again and continue tending to the wounds. Jon seeks to meet Martin’s eyes, but Martin won’t look back at him. </p><p>After a few ticks of silence, Jon says, “I’m glad you’re okay. As okay as you can be, given the circumstances, but okay.” </p><p>Martin stays quiet. </p><p>Jon bites at the inside of his cheek as he tenderly wraps bandages around Martin’s knuckles, wishing he could tell Martin how much he cares without Martin brushing it off, without acting so detached. But Martin believes in what he’s doing—Jon knows that much. He also knows that despite what Martin may believe, the Lonely is far more comforting to him than he likes to admit. No matter how much Martin believes he’s doing good, if the end result is losing himself to the Lonely, then Jon can’t stand by and watch it happen. There has to be some way to let him <em> know</em>— </p><p>“Jon,” Martin says, tearing Jon from his thoughts. </p><p>“Yes?” Jon finishes fastening the final bandage, but his hand and Martin’s stay in place, suspended.</p><p>“You make all of this so much harder for me.” </p><p>At a loss for words, Jon only looks at Martin, waiting for some kind of explanation. Martin’s hand feels warm in his own. </p><p>“It’s so <em> obvious </em> that you care, not like—not like when I first started as your assistant. If I could just pretend you didn’t care—if I could justify to myself that you <em> don’t care</em>—it would be so much easier to be alone.” </p><p>“Martin…” </p><p>Martin continues, voice strained, “But the care in you leaks out through your eyes, your voice, through <em> everything</em>, and why <em> now?</em> Jon, why now, the only time I can’t care for you back?” </p><p>Jon’s heart pounds hard in his chest. </p><p>“Because I was an idiot,” Jon finally responds, “Because I was an idiot, and a prick, and every other insult under the sun—because I took you for granted. I cared about you all along, though I was far too dense to show it. And now I care so much that it scares me sometimes, and you’re not even around…” he takes a long breath, “I miss you so goddamn much.” </p><p>Something on Martin’s face falters.  “You make this so much harder,” Martin repeats, letting Jon’s hand drop from his own. “But I have to keep going, Jon. I have to see it through. You know that.” </p><p>Jon ignores the sting. “And what if—what if something happens to you?” </p><p>Martin sighs and shakes his head. “I have to keep going.” </p><p>Before Jon can speak up again, Martin shoves his now bandaged hands into his pockets with an air of finality and says, “Thanks for this. It really took me by surprise—the knife and all. I probably would’ve panicked and passed out on the floor if you hadn’t come.”</p><p>“You don’t need to thank me—” </p><p>Martin bulldozes over Jon’s words, “I really better get going back to my place now and get some rest. You should, too.” </p><p>Defeat settles in the air as Martin side-steps past Jon and out the restroom door, turning in the threshold only to say, “Have a good night, Jon.” </p><p>Jon stays stuck in place, never having felt so lost. </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>find me on <a href="http://twitter.com/liquidsaints">twitter</a> &amp; <a href="http://liquidsaints.tumblr.com/">tumblr</a></p><p>thanks for reading! &lt;3</p></blockquote></div></div>
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